


History written

by orphan_account



Series: History [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dori and Bilbo are worried parents, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Pointless fluff, Politics, Thorin and Ori remain stupidly shy and a bit awkward around each other, Wedding Night, people being happy together, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reconquering Erebor was the easy part, in the end</p><p>(short things following "Writing History", because Ori and Thorin were fluffy and asked for more. To be updated with the irregularity that is to be expected from me)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. afternoon

Ori came in Thorin's office, carrying as many parchments and books as his arms would allow. For a moment the king feared he would drop one or two, but that was underestimating his scribe's care for all written words. Ori would never be careless enough to damage a scroll.

“I've got it all, I think,” the young dwarf proudly announced, slowly putting them down on Thorin's desk. “These are the very first treaties made with the elves, and those are the last ones, dated not one week before... before, and that book is about the rules and traditions of meetings between elves and dwarves, but so are those two, and I went through them, and some things can be handled in different ways, so I'm not sure which one is right... And then there's... why are you laughing like that? Did I do something wrong?”

“Nothing wrong at all, master Ori. I was only wondering if you were aware that you were allowed to _delegate_ these tasks. You are head of the library, there is no need for you to run around in that way.”

“But Nojr is in the middle of our first census, which is awfully important, and Daja is in Laketown to oversee the buying of food, and Kirl is just recovering from his flu, so there's just me.”

“You could still have asked someone else to do it for you. Any dwarf in the mountain would be glad to help you.”

Ori lowered his eyes, blushing.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you,” he mumbled. “I know you are very busy, but I thought... It's just, I haven't seen you in days, and... I'm sorry, I'll just go and let you work...”

He turned to leave, but Thorin managed to catch him by the wrist and to pull him to him. The young scribe turned red, but did not attempt to fight, mindful as always of the king's healing wounds.

“I'll make sure not to disturb you next time,” Ori whispered.

“You never disturb me, and you know it. My only concern was that you had to walk all the way from the library to here carrying all that. I don't want you to get tired, my dear. Now tell me, do you have any work left to do today? And I mean work that _cannot_ wait until tomorrow.”

“I did promise lord Borin I would look for some documents for him, but... he wasn't very nice about it, so it can probably wait.”

Thorin's arm slipped around his scribe's waist.

He didn't like Borin. He was one of the lords who had arrived with Dain's army, and he had helped a lot during the first few weeks, when there had been so much to do, but since the first day he had made it clear that he had nothing but contempt for Ori. And since a lord voiced his disliked, other lesser dwarves were not afraid to openly scorn him. The young scribe did his best to hide it, but after now six months of cold stares and crude jokes wherever he went, Thorin could feel the young dwarf's defence crumbling slowly.

“What did that idiot tell you now?”

“Nothing much. He just... it's nothing, really, and you'll get mad if I tell you, but it's nothing.”

“If it's nothing, I will not get mad, so tell me.”

“I've forgotten the exact phrasing,” Ori admitted, “b-but he... said he remembered the documents where on one of the low shelves, and he... sort of implied it s-shouldn't be a p-problem for me because I-I like g-g-getting on my knees to p-please nobles... Oh, you're going to be mad! Please don't be, it's nothing!”

“It's _not_ nothing,” Thorin growled, tightening his hold on the scribe's waist. “You are my future consort, and he should respect _that_ at least. I will talk to him, and make sure this doesn't happen again. In a few weeks, you will sit next to me in the throne room as my husband, whether he likes it or not, and any insult against you is an insult against me.”

Ori nodded shyly, but Thorin could feel how tense his little scribe was. Six months had passed since the reconquest of Erebor, and as soon as he had been sure he would survive his wounds, Thorin had claimed that he was courting Ori, and would marry him. He had even rushed terribly their courtship (with Balin's approval, and Dori's... decision not to kill him for going so fast) to make sure no one would think he was toying with the lad. But Ori still seemed as afraid to discover one day that it had all been a long and cruel prank.

Thorin hoped that that fear would finally disappear on the morning after their wedding, but he wasn't sure of it, not with the way everyone else seemed determined to convince the young dwarf that he would never be worthy of the king's affection. As if Ori wasn't as brave as any of these idiots, braver even, as if Thorin hadn't wanted him long before the quest, when the lad was nothing but Balin's smart and quiet little apprentice. As if the fact that his mother had never married any of her lovers made Ori any less of a wonderful dwarf.

“You will certainly not do anything that Borin asked of you today,” the king eventually decided. “Which means you are now free for tonight. Will you have diner with me, in my rooms? I will send word to Bombur, I'm sure he can be convinced to prepare some meat pie, just the way you like it, and I've heard we now have chocolate...”

Ori let out a little gasp.

“It's not fair of you to use that against me, my king.”

“Everything is fair in love,” Thorin answered with a low chuckle, kissing him on the cheek. “And using food is not what I would call fighting dirty. Will you join me, then?”

“Of course I will. Chocolate! How could I resist? Oh! But I'm not agreeing just for the food! It'll be lovely to spend time with you too, and we've had so little time lately, and... do you want me to go tell Bombur?”

“No need. Farin should soon come and ask me my plans for the evening, and he will take care of it. Which is his job, so do not start to tell me that you could do it just as easily.”

Ori closed his mouth, looking chastised.

“I wasn't going to say that.”

“You were, my darling, because you say it every time I make Farin work in front of you. The poor dwarf thinks you do not like him, you know, with the way you're always trying to do his job when you are here.”

Actually, Farin had worried that the future consort might be jealous, and had asked the king if he should tell Ori that he had a wife and a child in the Iron Hills. Thorin had managed to convince him that it would not be such a good idea. He was fairly sure his little scribe wasn't the jealous sort, but such an unprompted declaration might make him worry.

“Can I at least help you with... whatever it is you needed these books for?” Ori asked. “Since I seem to be done with my work and you don't want me to help with anything else?”

“You make it sound like I treat you as useless,” Thorin complained. “It is not true at all. I think you are a dwarf of great value, and I always appreciate your help, though I do not wish to waste it on things were others might offer assistance.”

“Does it mean I can do something for you, then?”

Thorin hesitated. He was trying to keep the whole thing a surprise for Ori, a... present of sorts, for their upcoming wedding. He wasn't sure yet how Ori would react to it. His little scribe still refused to speak of the time when the king had been under the influence of the gold-fever, and Thorin's own memories of those few days were hazy at best, but he still remembered how terrified the young dwarf had looked.

He could not afford to frighten his lover like this ever again.

And one step toward that was to get rid of the Arkenstone.

He had not seen the stone since that day when Bard had come to him, asking for a share of gold to give it back. The man had tried to return the stone, while Thorin lay on a bed, between life and death, but he had refused, and Balin had taken it for him, and had kept it since. And he would keep it still, until the day Thorin gave away the damn thing.

“You can help me, indeed,” the king eventually said. “I am trying to find a way to make a gift to Thranduil. A gift he will enjoy receive even less than I enjoy giving it. As if that was not enough, I need to make it clear that I'm not asserting his or my superiority, but that it is a present made to a king who is my equal.”

“Oh, that's a hard one," Ori admitted. "I don't think anyone has ever tried that before, really. Elves and dwarves equal, what a terrifying idea! I'm sure Durin the Deathless must be yelling from his grave! Shame on you."

"Are you making fun of me, master Ori?"

"Maybe a little. Is... is that bad? You said I was _allowed_ to, didn't you?"

"Indeed, I said that. But be careful, I might start joking too. Or I may tease you, to make you blush. Maybe by suggesting that after dinner, you stay and spend the night here with me..."

As he expected, his little scribe blushed spectatularly, but for once he did not try to stutter while explaining why it would be a very bad idea.

Thorin was almost certain that Ori desired him as much as _he_ wanted him, but in their situation, the young dwarf seemed terrified that sharing his king's bed would hurt both their reputations. Thorin couldn't care less, especially since all of Erebor thought they were already lovers (all of Erebor, save Dori, who would have killed his king if he had thought that anything improper had happened between them) but he would wait as long as needed.

He had already waited that long, what difference did it make now?

"You know I can't stay," Ori mumbled. "It's not I don't want to, it's..."

"I know, my dear, I know. Now, about this elf problem..."

They talked for a long time, trying to figure out how to deal with the absence of precedent. They eventually decided that they would need to create a new ceremonial, for which they would need input from Balin and from Mirkwood's ambassador. Just as they had come to that conclusion, Farin had come in, and they had announced they would be dining in Thorin's room that night.

"Sometimes, I feel like it's all a dream," Ori admitted once they were alone again. "It's all too nice to be true."

"It's a very nice dream indeed then, my love, and one I hope we never awake from."

Ori giggled at that and, with a shy smile, kissed his king.


	2. a parent's job is to worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many things about Ori and Thorin's relation that bother Dori, but as long as his brother is happy, he doesn't mind.

“I must say that this was one of the most delicious meals I've ever had,” Dori announced. “As usual. You are a living wonder.”

Bilbo flushed in pleasure, as he always did when his cooking was complimented.

“It's not much, really, but I couldn't do any better, not with what little food is available. Wait until that is no longer an issue, and I'll make you a meal to die for.”

“I can't wait for that to happen.”

“Do you have any... plans for the evening?” Bilbo asked, getting up to clean the table while Dori took away the plates. “Is Ori out with the princes?”

“No, Farin came to say he was having dinner with Thorin.”

“Ah, he'll be back soon, then.”

Dori nodded. He knew that he should be glad that his brother and the king were acting as good, honourable dwarves and refusing to share each other's bed until their wedding. A part of him was proud that he had taught Ori so well, that he had turned him into a good and proper dwarf who would never act as shamefully as Nori did.

Another part of him thought that in the past six months, he'd barely had any time to be with Bilbo, and wished Ori would be a little _less_ proper sometimes.

“Five weeks and he's moving out,” Bilbo sighed. “I don't know if I'm happy for him, or very worried. Not that I think Thorin will treat him badly, because he knows what will happen if he does, but it's just... “

Dori nodded again, leaving the plates in the sink.

His youngest brother was a lovely, clever lad, and at any other time, Dori would have been glad that Ori had found love. He would have threatened his lover, but he would have been glad.

He couldn't be happy that Ori's choice had been Thorin, though, because Thorin was a king, and anyone who married him would end up being a public figure. And Ori had many great qualities, but he was not comfortable around people, he stuttered any time he had to speak to someone he felt was important, and he tended to think everyone was important compared to him.

And as if that hadn't been bad enough, there were people talking.

It had never bothered Dori before that their mother had been a maid. When he had been a child, in Erebor, it hadn't mattered, because his grand-parents had decided they did not care if their daughter had chosen not to marry her child's father. They had accepted him, and later Nori, as presents from Mahal. Dori remembered being called their treasure, and he'd called Ori that too, when he had been very little. Ori's father had been a decent dwarf, one who had seemed determined to marry their mother, but he'd gone to the Moria and had died there, like many others. It had made them all sad (even Nori, for all that he pretended not to care) but they had gone on with their lives, and none of them had cared that they were, technically, a bunch of bastards. It just didn't matter back then.

It mattered now.

Nobles had standards. And these standards meant that Ori was nothing better than troll's dung to them. _His_ Ori, who was probably more clever than all those blue bloods together, kept getting insulted, called a whore and a bastard and a gold-digger. Ori who couldn't ask something of the scribes under his orders without apologizing for bothering them!

It would have made Dori want to slap all these idiots and murder them, but he had to stay calm and keep smile. He knew the Company was waiting for a sign from him before they jumped to the defence of their scribe, and that if he lost control, there would soon have an epidemic of knives in the back among the nobility of Erebor.

Their friends were nice, but not very subtle.

“Is it very strange if I say sometimes I feel like he's... well, not really my son," Bilbor said, "I haven't known him long enough for that, but still... I do care about him a lot, and I wish I could protect him, you know? He's a grown boy and he can handle himself, and yet...”

“The real question here, Bilbo, is to know which of us is his mother, and which is his father.”

“Oh, that's easy,” the hobbit replied with a grin. “You're his mother. After all, you look far better in a dress than I do.”

“It was a robe, not a dress.”

“Of course it was. How could I forget? Dreadful of me!”

“Cheeky hobbit.”

“But you like me cheeky,” Bilbo claimed, getting on his tiptoes to kiss the dwarf. “And I like you too. I imagine we should do something about it, should we not?”

A most wonderful idea, in Dori's humble opinion. It had been such a long time since they'd had a moment alone, and if he was lucky, Thorin's resistance would crumble, they'd have a night to themselves, and...

And of course, Ori had to choose that moment to come in, looking terribly cheerful, his hair a mess and one of his braids half undone. It was almost embarrassing the way the lad radiated happiness every time he came back from seeing Thorin, as if that grumpy old thing of a king could magically erase everything that wasn't right in Ori's life.

Still, it made Dori smile.

As long as Ori was happy, they could deal with the rest.


	3. Wedding day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what it says on the tin, really.

Ori stared at his plate, feeling utterly panicked and ready to be sick if he had to eat anything.

“Just a mouthful,” Dori insisted. “We can’t have your stomach growling in front of everyone, can we?”

His brother let out a whimper.

“What if he changes his mind in front of everyone?” he whispered hurriedly. “There’ll be all these noble, important people, what if he sees one of them and decides it’s _them_ that he wants rather than me?”

“If such a thing were to happen, I suppose Nori, Bilbo, the princes, Dwalin and me would be fighting to decide which of us would kill him.”

“Dori!”

“If you can be ridiculous enough to think Thorin is going to abandon you on your wedding day, then I can be ridiculous too. The old fool has been waiting for this too long to let you escape now. Now eat, quickly! We need to get you ready.”

Ori nodded weakly, and managed to nibble on a bit of toast while his brother went to fetch his clothes. He was ridiculous of course. Thorin had more than proved that he wanted him by his side, that he loved him even, and that not even the nobles who disliked Ori could separate them.

A knock on the door distracted him from his attempt at eating, and soon two young princes barged in, looking far too cheerful, as if _they_ were the ones getting married instead of Ori. Fili in particular looked ridiculously happy, though he did have a right to it, his young friend thought. Apparently, the oldest prince had tried, and for a rather long time, to push Ori in Thorin’s arms, and to force the scribe to act on his feelings. He’d been mortified the first time he’d learned that his secret love for Thorin hadn’t been such a secret after all, but he had been glad to know that his lover’s nephews didn’t have any objections.

“Reading for your big day?” Kili asked, sitting next to him and stealing a piece of toast. “Are you nervous? You’re not going to change your mind, right? Damn, you look all white and tense! Please tell me you haven’t realized what an ass uncle is, and decided you’d rather have a dwarf who isn’t emotionally constipated and who cares about things beside his kingdom and...”

“Shut up Kee, or you _will_ make him change his mind! Don’t worry, Ori. Uncle is an ass, but not with you, and I’m sure the two of you will be very happy.”

The young scribe smiled weakly, and nodded shyly. He would be very happy.

As soon as he realized that it was all really happening and that this wasn’t just a dream, he would be very happy.

“It’s a shame Ma can’t be here,” Kili sighed, taking another toast. “She’d help us tease uncle, and she’d give a hand preparing you. She’s much better at braiding hair than us.”

“That’s supposing she wouldn’t be laughing at me with Gloin and lord Borin...”

Fili tousled his hair playfully. “You’re being silly, little uncle. Ma would love you. We had told her about you in Ered Luin, and she was glad we had a friend who... how did she say it?”

“A friend who wasn’t a suicidal brainless clot with no sense of self-preservation,” Kili suggested.

“That’s the one,” Fili agreed. “We’ve talk so much about you, she’ll be so glad to finally actually meet you, little uncle!”

In truth, Ori had met Dis already. She had not come to see Balin as often as her brother, she still had. She had given Ori the impression that she was proud, as much as her brother, but without that air of kindness and devotion that Thorin had. Though of course, he knew he was far from being objective, just as he knew that the way he saw the king was not the way most people saw him.

“Wait, _little uncle_? Why are you calling me that?”

“Well, you’re marrying our uncle, and you’re very small,” Kili explained with a grin. “So starting in a couple hours, you’ll be our little uncle. Easy.”

Before Ori could protest and beg them to never, ever use that nickname again, Dori came back, carrying the long purple tunic he would be wearing. By tradition, on his wedding he was supposed to wear his family’s colours. Both Dori and Thorin had tried to convince him that technically, since he was related to the royal line of Durin, however vaguely, and going to enter it through marriage, he was allowed blue. He had still insisted on purple, and Nori had supported him. Purple was _his_ colour, just as it had been their mother’s colour before. It was an outcast’s shade, one worn by bastards and people rejected by their families, but since no one else would forget he _was_ a bastard, then he would wear it openly so that no one would try to use it against him.

“Boys, you are late,” Dori accused. “We were waiting for you half an hour ago. If we’re not on time for the ceremony, you’ll be the one having to explain it your uncle!”

“He knows,” Fili replied. “It’s his fault. He couldn’t find his beads this morning.”

“Didn’t you say it was just an excuse though?” Kili wondered. “You said he was really just panicking that maybe Ori would have changed his mind.”

“Yes, but I didn’t necessarily wanted Ori to know that, you dunce!”

“But it’s the truth, and we all know it’s ridiculous, so I don’t see why...”

“Because we don’t want Ori to know he’s still allowed to change his mind,” Fili explained with a wink at the young scribe. “Do you want to have to deal with uncle should that happen?”

Kili gasped in horror (mocked or sincere, it was difficult to say) and Ori chuckled. Feeling the knot in his stomach was going away, he took a toast (the last one, Kili had eaten all the others) and bit into it.

“Of course you’re eating _now_ ,” Dori sighed, before turning to the princes. “He’s your problem now. If you are late, or if he looks anything but perfect, you’ll have to answer to me and to your uncle, are we clear? I must go. _Do_ try to be on time, really.”

The princes assured him that they were perfectly able to take care of Ori. Dori looked anything but convinced, but he left anyway, to go and help prepare Thorin with Nori.

It was an old tradition to have one’s future in-laws help them on their wedding. The idea was that it helped consolidate the new links that were to be created, to make sure that everyone could get along when it was needed. Not that Ori had any problems with the young princes. They had been friends for years anyway, and their friendship had only increased during the quest, and while they helped rebuild Erebor.

Thorin on the other hand was alone with Nori and Dori, and his young fiancé felt rather sorry for him. It wasn’t that his brothers didn’t like the king, but they weren’t thrilled by the wedding either. Not that they doubted Thorin’s feelings, but they both seemed very worried about having Ori becoming a public figure.

Which he found rather offending, really. He wasn’t much good around people, yes, and he was shy and needed to stand for himself a bit more, but he had improved about that during the quest, and he was still improving a lot, and it just wasn’t fair to treat him like a baby or a fragile flower. He’d never had Thorin’s charisma, and he’d never be at ease the way the princes were, but he would get better at it, he felt sure of it.

“Come on Ori, let’s get you naked!” Kili chirped, sounding far too cheerful at the prospect. “You’ve heard your brother, we can’t afford to be late. The entire kingdom will we waiting for you!”

Ori whined. He would get better at it, but he wasn’t good yet, and as much as he loved Thorin, he did not feel ready to be stuck for hours in a room full of people who despised him or even hated him.

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this!”

“Yes, you can,” Fili assured him. “You’ve fought orcs, goblins, spiders and wargs. A wedding can’t be worse than that, can it?”

“yes it can. D’you think I could go to Thorin and suggest we elope together?”

“ _I forbid it_ ,” the blond prince declared. “Mostly because he’d probably agree, and then I’d end up having to rule in his place, and I really don’t want that. Now finish that toast and undress, we’ve got to make you ready.”

 

* * *

 

It didn’t take long, in the end. Or at least, it didn’t feel long to Ori. The princes kept talking to him, joking and teasing him about all sorts of things to help him relax. It worked fairly well, though he was still dreadfully nervous.

Running away seemed like such a nice option at the moment.

Not that the princes would let him do it. As soon as they deemed him ready, they each grabbed one of his arms, and dragged him toward the throne room. By the time they arrived, almost everyone was already inside. Ori knew that if he looked into the room, he would see his fiancé, sitting on his great iron throne, waiting for him, but he did not look. he wasn’t supposed to see Thorin until the ceremony actually began. Indeed, Balin and Bilbo stopped them once they arrived near the door. After one last joke, the princes went in, and the young dwarf was left with his king’s advisors.

“Nervous, lad?” Balin asked.

“I think I’m going to be sick. How... how is Thorin?”

“Almost got in a fight with Dori over his hair,” Bilbo announced. “If Nori hadn’t been there, I think you’d be a widower before even getting married. Apparently, Dori tried to make on of his braid using three strands of hair instead of four.”

“Oh, that’s _bad_! You’ll have to tell him, Bilbo, he just can’t do things like that, not even to joke, not with Thorin anyway!”

Bilbo threw him a confused look, the one he had whenever dwarves did a thing he didn’t understand and that seemed queer by his hobbit standards. Usually Ori was more than happy to explain, but not that day. It was just like Dori, to tell everyone to act nice and proper, and then try to create problems. He was just as bad as Nori sometimes.

“It’ll be fine, laddie,” Balin assure him, patting him on the back. “It shouldn’t be long now. Still sure you want that silly old king of a dwarf? You could do better, you know.”

“There’s no one better,” Ori firmly protested. “And even if there was, I wouldn’t care, I love him, and only him.”

Balin nodded, smiling. “Well, that was your last chance to run, lad. Bilbo, go see what that boy’s idiot brothers are doing. Shouldn’t they be there already?”

“They’re coming,” the hobbit informed them, looking into the room. “Hope you’re ready, Ori. There’s not going back now.”

Ori felt like crying out of sheer nervosity, but he forced himself to take a deep breath.

He would stay calm. He had to be calm. Everyone would be looking at him, and lord Borin and his friends would be hoping to see him humiliate himself, but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. He was Ori, son of Seri, he had fought orcs and trolls, he was one of the fourteen brave enough to have followed Thorin, he had gone so far and done so many things, more than most of these people who called him a whore and other worse things, and he would _not_ let them ruin this day.

He would prove them all that he was worthy of his king, bastard and scribe and young as he was.

Thorin loved him, Ori loved him back, and that was all he needed to be worthy of him.

Dori and Nori arrived at last, and Balin and Bilbo went inside, announcing as they walked that the King’s future consort had arrived.

Music played.

Nori turned to his little brother.

“Still sure of yourself?”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life. Did... Thorin, did he still look sure?”

“A mountain would change his mind sooner than him. And once he’ll have had a look at you, there’ll be no escaping for you. You look great, kid. The princes did good.”

Ori smiled at him and, on an impulse, took his hand, as well as Dori’s.

They went in.

Everything was going to be fine.

* * *

  
  


Later on, Ori would have been hard pressed to say anything about the ceremony. He knew how it was meant to happen, because they had rehearsed it, and he had read about enough weddings to know these things, but he barely remembered anything at all.

He knew that there had been many people, almost all of Erebor had come (and there weren’t many of them, certainly, but still enough to make an intimidating crowd) but he had not even _looked_ at them. All his thoughts had been on Thorin, sitting on his throne, dressed in dark blue, his hair and beard carefully braided by Dori’s talented hands, and he was more handsome than Ori had ever known him.

Dori and Nori walked on each side of him until they arrived before the throne at which point Balin came to take his hand, and introduced him formally, asking if there was anyone who offered objection against his alliance to Thorin. Ori almost laughed then. There certainly were many objections, but no one would dare to say anything, not in front of the entire company.

His desire to laugh went away when Thorin rose from his throne to take his hand and smiled at him, that smile that had been so rare when they were still in Ered Luin, but that he allowed himself more and more these days. Ori loved him when he was serious, when he was solving problems, he loved him when he was fighting orcs or arguing at his council, but more than anything, he loved Thorin as he was then, smiling at him, looking happy.

Balin talked for a long while, probably. Ori didn’t really listen, only reacting when he had to answer some question about whether he wanted Thorin as his husband (he did), if he swore loyalty to Erebor (he did) if he’d be faithful to his husband (there were no other dwarves, there would never be any other dwarves, there was only Thorin), if he would obey the old laws and help the King insure they were obeyed (he would do that, and many more things to be close to the one he loved).

Ori didn’t listen, and he didn’t care.

The only thing in the world that mattered was Thorin’s hand in his, Thorin’s bright blue eyes that never left him, and Thorin’s smile that he couldn’t wait to kiss again.

“Before Mahal, and before the Seven Fathers, I declare you married,” Balin announced at last. “All hail Ori, son of Seri, daughter of Darjn, new Prince Consort of Erebor!”

There was a terrible ruckus of shout and applause and stomping. Ori, once again, didn’t care. Thorin had raised his hand and kissed his fingers softly, as if he were something wonderfully precious, though there was heat in his eyes the like of which the younger dwarf had never seen before.

He was suddenly reminded of all the jokes Fili and Kili had made that morning about his wedding night.

It was torture to think that they still had an entire feast to go through before that could happen.

But he had waited that long.

He could wait a little longer.

* * *

  
  


The feast was a true wonder.

It was not as extravagant as some wedding feasts Ori had read about, not with food still scarce, but Bombur had taken care of everything and he’d made miracles. Not that this should have been surprising, of course. During the quest, the big dwarf had made them lick their fingers with things that they probably wouldn’t have wanted to touch if they had been cooked by anyone else.

Ori had a bit of everything, and it compensated for the fact that, as per tradition, he wasn’t sitting with Thorin at all.

Tradition sucked, in Ori’s opinion, and Thorin seemed to be of the same mind. They looked at each other a lot, and exchanged a few words in Iglishmek when no one was looking, until Balin or Dori noticed and made them stop, scolding them for being childish. They would wait a few minutes, and then start again.

“You’re a prince now,” Dori grumbled after the fifth time. “Can’t you act a little more like it?”

“Thorin started it this time,” Ori protested. “And I’m not acting any worse than Fili and Kili, really.”

“And he’s a _horny_ prince,” Nori pointed out with a grin. “Still a couple hours before sunset, little brother. Think you can wait?”

“Shut up, No.”

“Oh, what a nice colour you have on. I wonder if you’ll look like that when your little king takes you to bed at last.”

“Nori, seriously, drop it.”

“See, _that’s_ why you shouldn’t have waited until after the wedding to shag him. Never a good idea. First, it means you don’t know if he’s any good, and secondly, you’ll be thinking of nothing else all day.”

“Leave me alone!” Ori groaned, wishing he had his scarf so that he could hide in it.

“Yes, Nori, leave him alone!” Dori agreed, before he smirked too. “He can fantasize on his own, I’m sure of it, and he doesn’t need any help to wish it was evening already.”

Ori groaned and, catching Thorin’s attention, begged him to come rescue him from his horrible brothers.

 _-Nephews and Dwalin show me drawings so I know how sex work-_ the king signed back _. -YOU save me. Please.-_

Ori fought back a giggle. Kili told something to his uncle, who rolled his eyes in despair.

 _-Kili say how to make sure you pregnant-_ Thorin signed. _-Not sure if serious. Help.-_

This time, his young husband did laugh, earning himself a glare from Dori, and it was Ori’s turn to roll his eyes. If he wasn’t allowed to have a little fun on his wedding day, what was the point, really?

* * *

  
  


The day passed slowly, and Ori was barely able to say a single word to his husband. It was tradition, of course. In memory of the Seven Fathers, who hadn’t talked to the wives given to them by Mahal until the moment they had been each alone with their dwarrodam.

Because that was the proper thing to do, said legends, and because these ladies had been deserving of the greatest respect.

Because they had been bloody dwarves, and thus about as much good at romance as a dead skunks, Ori privately believed, though he knew better than to say that aloud.

When at last, the great windows of the banquet room no longer gave enough light, and they were forced to light the candles, Ori almost shouted in joy. Once there were no longer in the dark, Thorin rose from his chair to make a speech, and announce what his wedding gift was. It was traditional that a king (or a queen, as that happened too) would give to their new partner a precious thing, or grant a request. Ori, in spite of all his research (sneaking around, Nori called it, as if he didn’t do it too) still had no idea what Thorin would do for him, but from the look on Balin and Bilbo’s face when he had tried to get information from them, it would be a grand, dramatic gesture.

Ori smiled at his husband, impatient to know at last.

His smile disappeared when, in the middle of Thorin’s speech, two dwarves came in carrying the Arkenstone on a golden tray with a small cushion to keep it in place.

He didn’t like the stone. In nearly seven months since the battle, not once had he asked what had become of it, because he did not _want_ to know. He had almost lost Thorin because of the damn thing, they had almost all died for that stone, and he still remembered how coldly, how cruelly his king had treated him while searching for the Arkenstone...

No, he didn’t like it one bit.

And he didn’t want it anywhere near him, or near Thorin.

“Here is my present to my new consort,” the king announced just as Ori gripped Dori’s arm and digged his nails in brother’s sleeve, fighting tears. “This, the Arkenstone of Thror, most valued treasure of my grand-father, which is now my property. We all know in which circumstances I came in its possession, of course.”

There were a few murmurs. They all knew indeed, and it was not Thorin’s greatest hours of glory, even his most fervent partisans admitted it.

“That stone is the most beautiful jewel I ever laid my eyes upon,” the king resumed, ignoring the doubtful glances thrown his direction, and making a clear effort not to look at Ori. “Beside the mines of Mithril of Khazad Dum, I believe the line of Durin has never discovered anything as precious as this. And yet, it has brought us only pain and misery. This is why I chose it as my present to my consort. I am not giving it _to_ him, I am giving it _away_ from him, so that never again a dwarf may be tempted by that stone to forget what really has importance and what... doesn’t.”

It took Ori a moment to understand what his king was saying, and before he had fully processed it, Dori was helping him stand and pushing him toward his husband so that he maybe thank him.

Instead he just took Thorin’s hands and cried.

As much as he hated the stone, as much as he wanted it gone, he would never have dared to ask to have it cast away, not when he knew how precious it was to Thorin.

And now he was making a fool of himself, crying in front of everyone and not saying a word, but he didn’t care. If he had still had any doubt that Thorin loved him, this would have proved it once and for all.

“Do you like my present?” the king asked him, sounding worried. “I didn’t know... I hoped that would please you.”

“It does,” Ori sobbed, as loud as he could manage, so that the rest of the room might hear him too. “It is m-m-more than I would ever have expected from y-you, and you c-cannot imagine how happ-p-py it makes me.”

Thorin smiled, and bent to kiss him. Ori gasped in surprise at such a public display of affection, especially when his king had always been so careful to remain proper when they were in public. Being married didn’t change that. Such things were meant to happen in private only. Though he supposed they could be forgiven, this being their wedding day.

He still made an effort to not throw himself at the king’s neck to kiss him senseless, no matter how much he wanted to.

Keeping Ori’s hands in his, Thorin turned toward the ambassador from Mirkwood, who replaced Thranduil since the king had cancelled at the last minute, having being hurt in a skirmish against orcs on his borders.

“My lord,” he told the elf, “I had planned to give this stone to your king tonight, as I am sure he would appreciate its beauty, and elves do not as easily fall victim to the desire for gems. Since he could not be with us, I shall give it to you instead, that you may carry it to him.”

Ori gasped again, and he was not the only one. He had thought Thorin would give the stone to Dain maybe, or wait for Gandalf to come again and ask him to take it away. But giving it to Thranduil, an old enemy, one who had treated his king with such contempt, and whom Thorin still hated with a burning passion? It was more than a present to his husband, it was a great political gesture, a peace offering, and Ori loved him all the more for it.

The ambassador readily agreed of course. The thing had probably been negotiated long ago. Ori suddenly remembered how just a few weeks ago, he had helped Thorin find a way to make a present to Thranduil, and he wondered if that was the present in question. He supposed that it was.

After that, the Arkenstone was taken away, and Ori didn’t relax until it was gone from his sight. Thorin too looked less tense after the doors closed on the stone, though he seemed exhausted, as if he had gone through some great fight. Ori supposed he had, in a way. He didn’t have much time to ponder on that, though, because Balin, at last, announced that the time had come for the king and his new consort to withdraw to their bedroom.

Ori had feared there would be crude jokes and foul gestures, maybe even songs and such things, but royal weddings were different from those of commoners, it seemed. For once, he was glad of it. Instead of having to suffer through any jest and teasing, Thorin took his hand again and they walked through the great hall in the most absolute silence Ori had ever heard. It felt almost scary, especially with the way everyone stared at them as if they were some sort of curious beasts, but Thorin did not look impressed, and the younger dwarf did his best to appear as calm and confident as his husband.

As soon as they had crossed the doorway of the banquet room, a great uproar started behind them, making the young scribe blush. Royal weddings were only a little different from normal ones, then.

Not that he had much time to think about it. As soon as they were out of view, Thorin pinned him against a wall and kissed him fiercely, pressing himself against Ori who threw his arms his husband’s shoulders to pull him even closer. They had barely seen each other in days with the preparations, and every time they had had time together, there had been people with them so that holding hands had been the most intimate thing they had managed of late.

Ori couldn’t help a small moan at the thought of what sort of _other_ intimate things they would be able to have at last, and his grip on Thorin’s shoulders tightened. The king still managed to pull away, much to the scribe’s displeasure.

“We cannot stay here, my love,” Thorin told him with a peck to his lips. “Others will start to come and go now that the more formal part of the wedding is over, and I would not want them to see us as I ravish you as I’ve wanted to for so long.”

“You have threatened to ravish me for a long while indeed,” Ori replied, his voice embarrassingly hoarse. “And yet, it is a promise you have always failed to fulfill so far. I do hope you will keep your word this time.”

“You cheeky thing,” the king chuckled. “As if I were the one who kept teasing! But there will be no more teasing now. You are mine now.”

Ori felt very warm at that. It was a very pleasing idea, to be Thorin’s at last, but the king suddenly frowned.

“I do not mean that you belong to me of course,” he explained. “I would never dare... You are not a thing to be possessed. And you may still refuse me, if you have no wishes for intimacy at the present time, or ever, and if...”

“I _am_ yours,” Ori cut him. “And you... you are m-mine, aren’t you?”

The smile on the king’s face made Ori’s heart swell on his chest. He seemed so young and happy, it made it almost painful to look at him.

“I am _yours_ , my love. Now and for ever. Shall we... shall we go then, before someone has the dreadful idea to come out?”

Ori nodded eagerly, stealing another kiss from his king before letting Thorin take him to his... their room.

He had waited such a long time for that day.

And the wait was finally over. They were together, and no one in the world could ever come between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this is partly based on a discussion with Alckalin where we thought that some people would disapprove of Ori and Thorin’s relationship, some because “ew commoner”, or “ew a bastard”
> 
> and then there’d be pretty much all the company going “not but Ori, it’s Thorin, you can do so much BETTER than that!!”
> 
> Also, what, no hair braiding? Nooooope, I’d see that as a part of the wedding that’s meant to happen in private, and that would be just as intimate as sex. Dwarves and their hair, really!


	4. wedding night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hair braiding and smut
> 
> fun for everyone

It wasn't the first time that Ori came into Thorin's apartments, but something felt different this time as he walked through the door. This was his home too now. His home that he shared with his husband.

That thought hit him hard. Thorin was husband now.

It was a pleasant idea, a very pleasant one even, but a terrifying one too. Now that they were alone, all his earlier lust had evaporated, replaced by a great fear. He knew that Thorin had some experience, they had discussed it once, on a day when the king had talked of his days before the dragon. Ori, on the other hand, had never known anything but his own hand (Nori had bought him a... a _toy_ once, the use of which had been very obvious, but Dori had found it and destroyed it before he could ever try it, and then there had been a fight with Nori). He knew how things worked, more or less, from having read books and listening to the company some nights during the quest.

But there was a difference between knowing which bits went where, and knowing how to make an encounter pleasurable for a partner. Ori was terrified at the idea that he might be horrible at that, that he would disappoint his king, that Thorin wouldn’t like his body (he had a pretty face he knew that, nice large shoulders, and he’d regained most of the small belly he’d lost over the time of the quest, but he was still awfully _small_ ).

It took Thorin kissing him to drive away his doubts.

“You do not look very happy to be here, my husband,” the king stated, looking concerned. “Haven’t I told you that nothing would happen if you didn’t wish it? The day has been a long one, and maybe it would be better to just sleep tonight.”

“No!” Ori protested a little too quickly, before blushing as he realized how eager he must have sounded. “I want this, I really do. I want it so much, I want _you_ so much! It’s just...”

“Yes?” Thorin encouraged him, tenderly stroking his jaw, undoing a little the careful braiding of his beard.

Ori took a deep breath. He felt stupid and ridiculous, but he _had_ to be honest and brave. That was what Thorin said he loved the most about him after all.

“I want y-you, but I-I’m going to be t-t-t-terrible at... _this_ ,” he explained with a vague gesture. “I’ve never... I’ve _never_.”

Thorin nodded with a kind smile.

“I know that. You’ve told me before, and I’ve told you that it doesn’t matter.”

“But I’m going to be so _bad_!”

“No you won’t,” Thorin chuckled, pulling Ori into his arms to kiss him again. “You are going to be lovely. And if it makes you feel any better, I will remind you that I haven’t taken a lover since before the dragon. You will be the first one I’ll have in half a life, my love. We might need a few moments to figure it out, but I am sure we’ll manage in the end. If elves can do it...”

Ori sniggered at that, and a little of the tension he’d felt disappeared.

“I have a suggestion, if you’d like,” Thorin said with a quick kiss to his brow. “Would it please you to braid my hair before we do anything more, to mark me as yours?”

“Oh, I. I’d like that very much, yes! That is, if it’s not too much trouble for you, I wouldn’t want to _bother_ you,” Ori teased, knowing perfectly well that Thorin loved having his hair brushed and braided. Actually, every time Ori had played with his king’s hair had ended with them nearly forgetting that they had agreed not to consummate their love.

Thorin had a _very_ sensitive scalp.

With the idea of sex forgotten for a moment, Ori relaxed entirely, and he almost ran to fetch Thorin’s comb. The king didn’t comment on it, but he was fighting a smile as he went to sit on his bed and removed his boots. Ori did the same before jumping on the bed to sit behind Thorin, running a hand in his lover’s dark hair, enjoying the feeling of it, before he started undoing the braids made by his brothers that morning.

“Where... where should I make mine?”

“Near the front,” Thorin decided. “I want it to be seen by everyone. And if you will allow it, I would like to have yours clearly visible too, that none may forget you are my husband now. Let lord Borin and his friends try to insult you after today, and they will have to regret it.”

Ori didn’t answer, still feeling guilty that his king was forced to fight with people who should have been his allies, and all because of him. Lord Borin was awful to him, but otherwise he was a good dwarf, who had done a great deal for Erebor, and seemed prepared to do more in the years to come. Ori hoped that Borin would learn to tolerate him one day, if only because Thorin and him might do great things together if only they stopped bickering for a while.

Silently, the young dwarf brushed his husband’s long hair, before picking a strand of it and braiding it carefully and tying it with a bead he’d made himself for this exact purpose. Once he was done, Thorin inspected his work and smiled brightly.

“I am yours now,” the king purred. “Your turn.”

The young scribe nodded, and moved to sit between Thorin’s legs. This was a thing they had done less often, partly because Ori wasn’t quite as sensitive, and because the mere idea of it made him feel far too _warm_.

He was _very_ warm indeed, feeling Thorin’s broad chest against his back, his large but so skilful hands in his hair, removing the braids made by Fili and Kili to replace them by a new one, his own. When he was done, the king slipped his arms around his young husband’s waist, pulling him closer. Ori leaned back, feeling comfortable and relaxed as the other nuzzled at his neck, planting small, soft kisses.

His breath quickened as the kisses became more insistent, Thorin’s hands moving to start unbuttoning his tunic. Ori had a shirt under it, but the fabric was thin, and he could feel every movement of his husband, the warmth of his finger almost as present as if he had worn nothing. He _wanted_ to wear nothing, he realized. He wanted to feel Thorin’s skin on his, and the mere idea of it had him shivering.

Immediately Thorin removed his hands, and Ori sighed at the loss.

“If you do not want this...” the king started.

“I _do_ want this!” Ori protested, shifting to face him. “I am more than capable of telling you when I don’t want things, aren’t I?”

Then, to prove his point, he quickly divested himself from his tunic, throwing it to one side of the bed before turning his attention to the lacings of Thorin’s ceremony outfit. It was an awful, complex thing, full of buckles and laces and buttons, and before long the two of them were working together on it, cursing and laughing and kissing through the entire process, until at last Thorin wore only his underwear. At some point, Ori had lost both trousers and pants, though he’d somehow managed to keep his shirt. It was long enough to almost reach his knees, but did little to hide the effect Thorin had on him.

But he felt he could be excused, really. His king was... gorgeous. Wonderful. With large shoulders and well defined muscles that looked like they had been sculpted by Mahal himself, decorated here and there by scars both old and new. Ori traced them with his fingers, shyly kissing the most recent ones to banish the memories of the dreadful battle that had almost cost him the dwarf he loved. Thorin flinched slightly when the younger dwarf’s lips touched the great ugly marks left on his side by Azog’s claws, and Ori quickly withdrew, fearing he’d done something wrong.

“Don’t look so scared,” the king chuckled, dragging the scribe on his lap for a kiss. “It is still a little tender, and it brings back memories I... would rather not think about when I am with you. I am sure there are far nicer things we can do... what would you want?”

“Anything,” Ori mumbled, blushing as he straddled his husband, Thorin’s hands resting high on his thighs. “ _Everything_.”

“ _Everything_ seems a little complicated to organize at the moment,” the king replied tartly, caressing the warm skin under his fingers. “And I’m not as young as I once was. But we’ll get to it, one thing at a time, I promise you.”

“Then... I want to touch you,” Ori whispered. “Please.”

“That’s hardly a thing I could refuse, love. It might be more comfortable if we lie down for this, though. Unless you’d rather stay above me? I have to say it has its charm too...”

Ori felt a flood a warmth and lust go through his entire body at the idea of being on top of Thorin for such a thing... But he forced himself not to take it seriously. It had to have been a joke of course, because Thorin was king, and he’d never... he was the king, he was Thorin, he would take control in this, it was the only way things could go, and Ori didn’t mind.

Not too much.

He still kept the idea of Thorin at his mercy in a corner of his brain. It made too good an image to let it disappear.

But for now, he just stole another kiss from his king, and moved from his lap before letting himself fall on the bed, rolling on his side to look at Thorin as he joined him. Ori suddenly realized that he still had his shirt on, and he wondered if he should get up and remove it. But before he could make a decision, Thorin was pulling him close and kissing him again, and Ori couldn’t think of anything but his lover’s firm lips against his. He had almost forgotten why they had changed position when he moved and one of legs rubbed against Thorin’s clothed hammer.

The gasp that the king let out at that was the most beautiful sounds Ori had ever heard, and it made the older dwarf’s kisses turn hotter than before. Encouraged by that reaction, Ori moved his leg again, slowly, enjoying the way Thorin’s hands clutched at his arms, in shirt, at his ass, desperately trying to bring him closer, to get more friction.

“More,” the king asked. “Please, Ori, I...”

There was a loud moan when the young dwarf replaced his leg with a hand, feeling the hardness still hidden by his lover’s underwear. Ori decided he rather liked this, even without being touched himself, yet. The idea that he could have such power over Thorin, making him squirm and groan and beg like that was... flattering.

Exciting.

It didn’t last, of course. Thorin wasn’t a patient dwarf, and after so many weeks of waiting, he was less patient than ever; before long, Ori’s teasing wasn’t quite enough anymore, and the king climbed on top of his young husband, kissing him again as he started caressing him.

And oh, Ori was taking back his earlier thought. As much as he had enjoyed touching Thorin earlier, this too was awfully nice. A part of him felt almost ashamed of the noises he was making, but he mostly didn’t care because this felt so good. It was nothing like touching himself, everything made more intense by the sensation of Thorin’s hand, rougher than his own, the unusual rhythm of it, his husband’s devouring kisses, and Ori loved every moment of it.

It all stopped for a brief moment as Thorin divested himself of his pants, but before the younger dwarf could complain at the loss he was back and pressing himself against Ori. The scribe moaned loudly when they touched, and it was so much better than anything he had ever imagined. He just wished he too were properly naked, and wondered if he should remove his shirt, but that would have meant Thorin moving away from him and he couldn’t have that, not even for a second.

To make sure that Thorin didn’t try to move away, Ori locked his legs around the king’s waist and his arms around his neck, somehow managing to pull him even closer.

That was when Thorin started moving, and Ori stopped caring what sort of noises he was making. This, feeling his lover’s flesh and kisses, the heat of their bodies together, the smell of sweat and sex, the words or love and lust that Thorin groaned as he moved... this was all he had never known he wanted.

It didn’t last long, not for either of them, not after such a long time of waiting and _wanting_ , and it took Ori almost by surprise when the fire in his loin suddenly flooded all over him. He whined at the feeling, tightening his grip on Thorin, and after a few more thrust the king joined him, shouting his pleasure against the younger dwarf’s shoulder.

Thorin moved to the side, and they both laid motionless afterward, panting loudly and, in Ori’s case, grinning widely.

He _liked_ sex.

Or at least, he liked sex with Thorin, but the distinction didn’t matter, because he had no intention of ever having another dwarf.

“I want to do it again,” he announced, closing his eyes. He was starting to feel rather sleepy.

Thorin chuckled. “That will have to wait a little, my darling. “I am not quite as young as you are, I’m afraid, and it had been a long day.”

“Oh, not that instant!” Ori blurted. “Just, I want to do it again, in a general way. It... it was very nice. I liked it _a lot_.”

“Hm... I think I can promise there will be other occasions. I shall make the _sacrifice_ for you, though it will cost me much, of course, to make love to the loveliest boy in Erebor... but it shall not be said that I shy away from my marital duties.”

Ori snorted, and huddled closer. He was starting to feel rather sticky, which was a thing he didn’t like as much as the rest of this whole having sex business, but he was too tired to move, and Thorin didn’t seem in a much better state.

They would take care of it in the morning.

Maybe after making love again.

Life, Ori thought as he fell asleep, was a very, _very_ nice thing sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin probably wanted nothing more than to fuck Ori into next tuesday... or even being fucked by him (we all know my opinion on that ;D), but he’s trying to take things slow.  
> Well, as slow as one can take things when confronted with a half naked, eager young dwarf...;D


End file.
